


simulacrum

by curiositykilled



Series: Uliro Angst Prompts [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Consent Issues, Identity Issues, In Which Kuron and Ulaz Have a Very Bad Day, M/M, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 16:15:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13505136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curiositykilled/pseuds/curiositykilled
Summary: It’s not his fault, a voice said softly. He’s a victim, too.It sounded like Shiro’s – like the clone’s – and helpless grief fanned the flame that he could not tell the difference. He should know. He should be able to tell the difference between the man he loved and the laboratory creation that had stolen his place.





	simulacrum

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I actually love all three of these characters. But I had an idea and ran with it. Ulaz is...pretty shitty to Kuron, and Kuron really is a victim here. If this weren't an angst series, this would be followed with a sincere and emotional apology and conversation - but this is an angst series and one without (currently) plans for positive resolutions. Sorry :<

“Do you want to talk about it? About him,” the clone asked.

He didn’t have a name, not one anyone would use anymore.  _Good_ , Uliro thought bitterly. He was a failure, a fake that hadn’t even succeeded in his mission.  _Another failed plan._

He dragged himself from those thoughts. It was bitterness speaking, hatefulness. After all, he’d failed, too. He was supposed to protect Shiro, to help ensure Voltron protected the universe from Zarkon’s scourge.

Instead, he’d allowed himself to be complacent, to fall lax in this, his most vital role.

He’d been so relieved to have Shiro returned that he hadn’t questioned it, hadn’t asked the questions that so obviously needed answered. He’d shared his hopes, fears, and bed with this – this thing that had Shiro’s face and memories and voice but was not him. He’d slept with the enemy while Shiro was tortured and killed.

“I know – I know I’m not him,” the clone continued, “but I – what I said and felt – that was all real.”

They both knew Ulaz’s hearing was keen enough to catch the appended  _‘I think.’_  Neither commented on it.

The stars rushed past in blurs, blue and yellow and white blending into streaks. This had always been Shiro’s favorite spot in the castle; a position from which he could monitor the castle while being surrounded by that which had first lured him into space in the first place.

Or, at least, that’s what the clone had said.

There was no way to factcheck anything that had been said anymore. The clone believed his words intimately, but he was programmed to. For all Ulaz knew, for all either of them knew, Shiro had preferred the training room or the pool. They were suspended in a web of truths turned uncertain, turned potential lies. What trust had flourished between them had soured and dissolved into spider-thing strands.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Ulaz said finally.

In his periphery, the clone’s shoulders slumped. He reached a hand up to rub at the back of his neck. Was that really one of Shiro’s mannerisms or had Ulaz just become accustomed to this simulacrum? He’d known the copy far longer and more intimately than the original. The thought curdled in his stomach, heavy and rancid.

“I’m sorry, Ulaz,” the clone said. “If I’d known, I would have told you. I was – all I know is being Shiro. My memories, feelings – everything is his. I had no idea.”

“I said I don’t want to talk about it,” Ulaz spat, finally twisting to face the clone. “You aren’t Shiro. You had no right to any of it. You are a violation. If it weren’t for you, Shiro would be alive. We would have searched and found him. You killed him. You killed Shiro.”

The clone’s lips had tightened, brows furrowing slightly. He made no move to protest. Part of Ulaz wished he would; he hungered for a fight for no purpose other than fighting. 

“I know,” the clone said quietly. “Don’t you think I know that?”

“You know?” Ulaz echoed.

He could feel his lips curling in a snarl, fists clenching tight till his claws pricked his palms.  _It’s not his fault_ , a voice said softly.  _He’s a victim, too._  It sounded like Shiro’s – like the clone’s – and helpless grief fanned the flame that he could not tell the difference. He should know. He should be able to tell the difference between the man he loved and the laboratory creation that had stolen his place.

“If you know that, why are you still here? Why don’t you leave us already? You’ve done enough damage. You’ve ruined everything you could,” Ulaz snarled.

“Because I’ve meant everything I’ve said, Ulaz,” the clone retorted. “I love you. I want to help. This team is the only family I’ve ever known.”

He said it decisively, as facts. How many times had they both uttered those words? How many times whispered in the night and pressed against each other’s skin? Ulaz’s claws cut deeper into his hands.

“I don’t love you,” he spat. “I never loved you.”

Hurt flashed over the clone’s face, raw surprise turning his features slack and honest. They closed up once more, shuttered into hard determination.

“Like it or not, Ulaz,” he said, “I’m the one you fell in love with. All that you know of Shiro wasn’t Shiro. It was me. You’ll have to come to terms with that some day.”

He turned sharply, then, and walked from the room with clipped strides. The doors closd behind him with a sigh as the seals engaged. Silence hung throughout the room. Ulaz remained where he stood, jaw clenched and nails biting into his palms.

At some point, they began to bleed. He let them, the red drip-drip-dripping onto the cold floor. The stars rushed past the beyond - flickers of light that burst bright and then vanished into the deep, still dark.


End file.
